The Wallball Incident
by jublke
Summary: A friendly wallball game between Luke and Han takes an unexpected turn. [A one-shot that took on a life of its own.] AU but loosely follows canon & the EU. Set between ANH and ESB. Lots of angsty hurt comfort. [not complete]
1. Chapter 1

First off, if you are following _A Cause for Concern _and/or _Night Blind_, thank you! I haven't given up on either of them, although both are vexing me in various ways. My friend 2Old4This2 suggested that I try to write something else to move past the writer's block, so here we are. My sincere thanks to her for beta-reading. Any remaining errors are mine.

This is a work of fan-fiction. _Star Wars_ was conceived by George Lucas and is currently owned by Disney. No copyright infringement is intended.

Many, many thanks to 2Old4This2, for listening to me whine. This one's for you! Thanks for the inspiration.

* * *

The wallball score was tied when the dark-haired man collided with the shorter blond as they both dove for the ball. Han Solo slammed into the nearest wall before collapsing on the court, with Luke Skywalker landing clumsily on top of him. The ball rolled innocently away from the fracas.

Luke laughed as he disentangled himself and rose to standing. "I'll give you that point, Han," he teased. Expecting a snide retort from his friend, the young man looked down in surprise. Han had moved into a seated position, but the expression on his face was blank.

"You all right?" Luke asked, thrusting a hand in Han's direction.

Han didn't move.

Luke knotted his brows. As he withdrew his hand, he studied Han more closely. _Did he hit his head?_ Dropping to one knee, Luke reached out and touched his friend's shoulder. "Han?" His voice was gentle.

The Corellian flinched away from his touch and closed his eyes.

"Han!" Luke's voice reflected the panic he felt. As far as he could tell, Han was fine. No bleeding, nothing obviously broken. _What's the problem?_ He grabbed Han's shoulders and shook him, a bit more roughly than he had intended. "Han!"

The backhand was unexpected, and Luke rubbed his jaw in surprise from his vantage point flat on the floor.

"Don't you ever touch me again," Han snarled. His eyes were red-rimmed and wild; his arms wrapped across his body in a defensive posture, like twin snakes coiled to strike.

"O-kay." Luke stammered, rubbing his jaw. He sat arms-length from his friend with his arms wide open, palms up. "I'm sorry, Han. I'm sorry if I hurt you. You didn't need to hit me." Luke spat a mixture of blood and spittle, a violent splatter of red against the white tile floor.

"Luke?"

"What?"

"Why're you bleeding?"

Luke's laugh was bitter. "That happens when your best friend hits you." He rose. "Come on, Han, let's go home." He didn't offer his hand as he retrieved the game ball and walked toward the door leading to the rest of the sports complex.

Han stared at him from where he was sitting against the far wall of the court. "I did that?"

Luke turned around and frowned. "Do you see anyone else here?"

"I ... I don't remember." The way Han put his hand to his head told Luke that the smuggler wasn't lying. Luke felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He walked back toward Han with a sense of trepidation.

"What happened?" Han asked.

Luke set the ball aside and knelt next to his friend. "We were playing wallball and we went for the same shot."

"I remember that." Han absently rubbed his hand across the opposite wrist.

"And then we collided and I fell on top of you - " At this, Han shuddered and his eyelids began to flutter. Luke tentatively grabbed his nearest shoulder. When Han didn't deck him a second time, he ventured a gentle squeeze. "Han, open your eyes. Please talk to me. You're scaring me."

"Shrike," Han whispered. He closed his eyes again and began to rock back and forth.

_Shrike? Who's Shrike? _Dimly, Luke remembered Han saying something about working as a slave on Shrike's spaceship when he was a child. He patted Han's shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "No one else is here, Han." When his friend seemed to relax slightly, Luke continued. "It's just you and me. But we need to get off the court, okay? We only rented it for a standard hour."

The man's eyes opened. "I'm sorry, Luke. I ... I didn't mean to hit you. I just remembered - " He shook his head. "I thought ..." Out of words, Han ran a hand through his hair, bit his lip, and gave Luke an imploring look. His expression made him appear about nine years old.

Luke felt his heart soften. "You thought I was Shrike, didn't you?"

Han nodded and looked away, clearly embarrassed. "He used to beat me." His troubled gaze finally returned to meet Luke's worried one. "Sometimes worse." Han shuddered again and looked away. "Never got what he really wanted, but it wasn't for lack of trying."

Luke's heart broke at the man's words. He knew that Han had suffered through a difficult childhood, but to hear him talk about it ... He wanted to gather his friend into his arms and comfort him as if he was still a small child, but Luke didn't want to traumatize Han further. He stood and studied his friend, trying to think of the best way to help.

With measured words, he spoke softly, "Han, you're safe here. It's over now." Luke stretched his hand out again. This time, Han clasped it in his own before yanking his arm back with a curse and using his left hand instead.

Luke pulled him to standing. "Let me see your arm."

"It's fine." Han tucked his right wrist behind his back and tried to appear casual.

Biting back a retort, Luke replied, "I did take a First Aid class, you know." He met Han's gaze and held it.

"Fine," the older man snapped. Reluctantly, he proffered his wrist, which, Luke noted, was most certainly not fine. The joint was somewhat enlarged and noticeably red.

"You need to see a med-tech for this, Han. I think it might be broken."

Han pulled his wrist back, a bit gingerly, Luke thought. "Nothing a bacta splint can't handle."

Luke shook his head as he picked up the game ball and they walked off the court together. "You're impossible."

"Me? I don't slam my opponents into walls to win my points." He gave Luke a playful shove.

"I said I was sorry." Rubbing his jaw in an exaggerated way, Luke gave Han a sad, puppy dog look.

Han threw his good arm over Luke's shoulder. "I'm sorry too, pal." In a low voice, he added, "I owe you one."


	2. Chapter 2

I don't know what happened, but this crazy one-shot has taken on a life of its own and is now a real story with chapters and everything.

My appreciation goes out to jeanmarie3, StatsGrandma57, 2Old4This2, and Freshman11 for your comments. My sincere thanks to 2Old4This2 for beta-reading and to both 2Old4This2 and StatsGrandma57 for helping me keep the _Falcon_ aloft. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

* * *

The two men walked along the busy city streets in silence. Every time Luke opened his mouth to speak, Han glared at him with a look that could melt durasteel. After several iterations of this, Luke finally spoke up. "Han, I said I'm sorry. What more do you want?" The whine crept into Luke's tone despite his fervent desire to hold it back.

"What I want, junior -" Han thrust his finger just under Luke's nose, "- is for you to leave me alone." The venom in his voice was palpable. He resumed walking at a brisk pace, leaving Luke scrambling to catch up.

"Kind of hard when we're sharing a hotel room," Luke observed.

"Not any more. I'm sleeping on the _Falcon_."

Luke tugged at Han's arm; the man roughly brushed his hand aside. "Han, be reasonable. The ship's freezing. You're not going to be able to get the heat up until you can get the pressure sensors fixed. And you can't do that one-handed, can you? Come back to the room. I promise to leave you alone. I'll even pay for room service."

Han finally stopped walking. He folded his arms with difficulty and glared at Luke. "Never should have agreed to come here on holiday with you in the first place. First, my ship. Now, my arm. You're bad news, Skywalker." He glared at the young man as they entered the lobby of the hotel. "Bad. News."

Luke digested this as they resumed walking in silence toward the lift. The ship, he knew, was not his fault. Han couldn't pin that on him, even if he had been the one to break the toggle switch. It was old and retrofitted, after all.

But Han's arm was quite another matter. Luke had unintentionally body-slammed him into a wall during their spirited game of wallball. The older man hadn't smiled once since the walk from the sports center to the med-tech's office. The fact that Luke had correctly diagnosed Han's broken arm brought little satisfaction. The break, the medic had informed them, was a nasty fracture of the distal radius, right at the joint. This meant a week-long immobilization in a bacta cast from wrist to elbow at a minimum, and possible surgery down the road if the fracture didn't heal properly. Han was to limit use of the limb as much as possible and return in a week for follow-up, putting a serious dent in his weekend plans with Luke and delaying their return to pick up Chewie and head back to the rebel base. A tight sling pinned Han's heavily bandaged right arm to his chest.

Use of the Force was still new to Luke, but he leaned into it now, trying to discern the best way to help his friend. Clearly, the man was frustrated. _Maybe he needs ... something? _"Why don't you tell me what you want from your ship and I'll bring it up to the room."

Han didn't answer.

They were just exiting the lift when a group of teens brushed past them. Luke wasn't the only one who heard Han's hiss of pain.

"Sorry, mister," the kid called over his shoulder, genuinely contrite.

Han stormed down the hall. Since he could no longer palm open the door - it was keyed to his right hand - he waited impatiently for Luke to do so. As soon as they were in the room, he turned to the younger man and finally answered his question.

"Brandy," he snarled. "Corellian Reserve." He looked at Luke expectantly, as if anticipating a lecture. When Luke held his tongue, Han added with a touch less hostility, "And a change of clothes. Something I can get in and out of." He twisted his body in frustration; the tunic he wore was knotted at the nape of his neck. Luke loosened the straps for him without thinking.

"Just leave it!" Han snapped. Pulling away, he walked to the nearest bed, flopped down on his left side, and closed his eyes.

Luke had a vision of Han as a small child, pinned down and wounded. Helpless._ That's how he's feeling_, Luke decided. _His blaster holster sits on his right side, practically useless now. He can't fly his ship either, although the gods know, he might try._ The idea that the mighty Han Solo was scared startled Luke. Han was the bravest person that he knew.

_He knows I look up to him,_ Luke realized. _He doesn't want me to see him like this. I'll bet the only being who's ever seen Han at his worst is Chewbacca and he's on Kashyyyk right now._

"What're you starin' at?" Hostile hazel met concerned blue.

"Nothing. I was just wondering how you're feeling is all."

"Like I've dropped into the ninth hell of Corellia, kid. Order us some dinner and get me my brandy." His eyes slid shut.

Luke shook his head and rolled his eyes, but he still did as Han asked. By the time Luke had returned to the room with the decanter of liquor and a fresh change of clothes for himself and Han, the smuggler was asleep.

Room service arrived not long after, bringing the heavenly smell of grilled nerf steaks and glazed tubers. Luke tipped the waiter an extra credit and pulled the heavily laden serving cart into the room. He had expected that the mere scent of dinner would awaken the Corellian, but Han hadn't stirred.

Luke touched the man gently on his uninjured side. "Han."

The man jumped, followed by flailing, wincing, and, finally, cursing. He glared at Luke.

"Sorry." Luke shrugged. "I thought you'd want to eat." Han grunted and nodded, moving stiffly toward the room's small table and chairs. Luke eyed his awkward gait. "I brought the med-pack from the Falcon."

Han regarded him with surprise. "Wha'd'ya do a thing like that for?"

Luke caught his hostile gaze and held it. "Because you're in pain, Han. And you shouldn't have to hide it just because I'm here." The older man studied him for a moment before turning away and sighing, and Luke knew his intuition had served him well. He rifled through the contents of the med-pack and pulled out a vial of suitable painkiller. "Two of these okay?"

"Make it three."

Han washed the pills down with a slug of brandy, but he also politely sipped at the glass of bactade that Luke poured for him. Luke studied the man as he struggled to cut his meat one-handed. It would have been so much easier to reach over and take the knife from him, but Luke figured he might just lose an eye if he tried that. Han Solo was a difficult man to help.

"So ..." Luke ventured, trying and failing to start a conversation.

Han dropped the knife on the table with a clang and picked up the entire steak one-handed. Ripping off a large bite of meat with his teeth, he chewed with enthusiasm. Luke laughed.

"Wha'?" Han spoke around the mouthful of nerf. After he swallowed, he added with a wink, "You should try it sometime." A ghost of a smile dusted his lips. "Or are you too dainty?"

Luke rose to the challenge, and soon both men were tearing into their dinners sans utensils and Luke had his own glass of brandy to nurse. "If only Princess Leia could see us now," he mused.

Han dropped his glass on the table with a clunk. "That girl needs to loosen up worse than you do," he declared.

Luke shrugged. "She is a princess, Han."

He rolled his eyes. "She's just a kid like you, Luke, barely out of her teens." His voice held a hint of wistfulness.

"Not old like you, huh?"

Han scowled at him. "Don't remind me. I was just startin' to like you again."

Luke's eyes popped and he blurted out, "That's what you're mad about? That you're feeling old?"

"Thirty ain't that old."

"You're ten years older than me!"

"That's ten years wiser than you." Han leaned back in his chair, a half-smile gracing his lips. After a long pause, he added, "Thanks, kid."

"Well, I kinda owed you dinner after plowing you into a wall."

Han stood up and stretched the left side of his body. Several joints popped with the effort and he winced. "I meant thanks for bein' here with me. I ain't been in the best of moods today." He gave Luke a small smile, a genuine smile, one without snark or sarcasm, and Luke accepted the unspoken apology.

"You're my best friend. You can't get rid of me that easy." Luke took a long sip of brandy and grimaced.

Han sat back down at the table and studied the young blond. "What about Rogue Squadron?"

Luke shrugged. "You're more important."

"Why?"

"I dunno. You're the one person who directly connects my old life with my new one, I guess." Han's hazel eyes were boring into him now, and Luke felt slightly uncomfortable. "What difference does it make?"

Han shifted his gaze and stared at his hands - one, useful, rough and calloused, the other helplessly wrapped in layers of bacta. "It makes a difference to me," he said, his voice thick. "You ... you believe in me. You make me a better person."

And with that, Han Solo stood and headed to the refresher, leaving Luke gaping in his absence.


	3. Chapter 3

My deep thanks to 2Old4This2 for her beta &amp; wise counsel. I appreciate it! Any remaining errors are mine. And thanks, Guest, for your review.

* * *

Han Solo couldn't relax. He'd avoided any further conversation with Luke by feigning sleep, embarrassed to the core that he'd let his true feelings for the boy slip out. He cared deeply about the kid and there was no logical reason why. Luke was like a brother to him, a long lost brother, able to warm places in Han's heart that he thought he'd frozen out long ago.

He'd never known anyone quite like Luke, stubbornly devoted to his naive cause regardless of what dangers the universe threw at him. And yet, he admired the kid, too, for his courage and conviction, his unshakable and unrealistic belief in the good of all beings. Han, who swore to himself that he'd never let down his guard with another soul, found himself warming up in the face of Luke's sunny smile. _Evil's easier to guard against_, he thought. Innate goodness caught him off-guard.

And that was why Han couldn't sleep. If he'd been alone, or with anyone else, he'd have popped a handful of reedug and chugged the rest of the brandy. Even the imposing presence of Chewie wouldn't have stopped him. There was no way he could sleep without an aid of some sort - he was in pain from his wrist to his shoulder and his entire body ached from slamming into the hard wall of the wallball court. The pain, in turn, had woken up memories he'd worked so hard to bury - memories of the first time his wrist had been fractured, at the hands of Shrike. Han had burned at the look of pity on the med-tech's face when he'd seen the scan. It wasn't just that Han was injured now. The bones in his wrist had knitted together rather haphazardly the first time, in the absence of any real medical care. This second break would be more difficult to treat because of that prior injury.

So Han sat at the table in the dark, staring at a full glass of brandy and a bottle of highly restricted pain pills that he kept hidden in the bottom of the med-pack for emergencies. He'd finally managed to pry off the lid using his teeth and his good hand. It wasn't that he wanted to kill himself. He just wanted to sleep - to sleep the sleep of the dead - slumber so sound that he'd be guaranteed no dreams, no nightmares, no memories. He'd been just about to take the pills and down the brandy when Luke had moaned in his sleep.

_Luke. Kriffing mynocks on a Death Star. _Luke would find him in the morning, semi-conscious and drugged up, and the kid would flip. Han picked up the glass, set it down. _What difference does it make, really?__ The kid needs a good dose of reality. _He picked the glass up again.

Walking to the sink, he dumped the brandy down the drain and poured himself a glass of water. _Damn it all to the nine hells of Corellia. What's gotten into me?_

Han took out six pain pills, put two back, and downed the other four with the water. With effort, he put the lid back on the bottle and walked to his friend's bedside. "Luke," he hissed quietly.

"Wha'?" Luke lifted his head, his blond hair mussed and matted. He blinked as Han placed the small bottle of painkiller in his hand. Han wondered if he'd recognize the potency of the drug listed on the label. Running spice had its advantages. "What's wrong? You okay?" Luke asked.

Han gave him a wan smile. "Hang on to that for me, all right? I just took some now and I shouldn't have any more for another eight hours. At least."

Luke's brows crinkled in sleepy confusion.

"I'm in a lot of pain, Luke, and I'm not thinkin' straight. Just ..." Han looked away, wishing he'd kept his frinking mouth shut. _Damned kid. _"Hang on to 'em for me until morning, all right?"

"Okay, Han," Luke mumbled. He slid the bottle under his pillow and fell back asleep.

* * *

It wasn't until dawn peeked through the curtains that Luke remembered his strange conversation with Han. Sliding his hand until the pillow, he found a small vial of reedug narcotic. _So it wasn't a dream._

Luke looked over at the other bed. Han wasn't there. He was sitting upright at the table, his head tipped to one side like a wilted flower. Luke had no idea how he could sleep like that. _How much reedug did he take?_ Luke's heart began to pound at the thought and he tried to calm himself down. _No, Han gave me this vial and it's almost full. But he must have been afraid that if he started taking the pills, he wouldn't stop. _The thought alone made Luke's skin crawl. _What sort of sand demons is that man dealing with?_

He crept out of bed and over to Han, reassuring himself that the latter was still breathing. "Han? Let's get you to bed, okay?" The smuggler moaned as Luke pulled him to his feet, yelping once when Luke accidentally put pressure on his right side, but he was clearly still asleep. With effort, he propelled the man to his bed, removed his boots, and gently guided his feet under the blankets. Using every pillow in the room, he managed to prop Han up in a way that he hoped spared his sore muscles and his injured arm.

Han opened one eye. "Thanks, kid," he mumbled before closing it and settling deeper into the pile of pillows with a groan.

"Anytime, Han." Luke sat back at the small table and stared at the bottle of painkiller. _What happened last night after I fell asleep? _He thought over what he knew for certain: Han was injured, and that injury was painful and had reminded him of Shrike. Han had been tempted to overdose on a restricted narcotic that Luke hadn't even known the man owned. _Why? Was he in emotional pain? Physical pain? Both? _Luke tried to remember Han's exact words. Something about being in pain and not thinking straight. So, probably physical pain that reminded him of something awful.

Luke vowed right then to learn Shyriiwook. If only he could understand Chewie, maybe the big Wookiee could shed some light on Han's past. _On the other hand, if I talk to Chewie about this, Han will never forgive me._ Luke turned the pill bottle round and round in his hands. Finally, he placed the bottle on the table with a clunk and went to stand by Han's side.

He spoke softly to the sleeping man. "Han, I'm really worried about you. I wish you'd talk to me."

To his surprise, the smuggler mumbled in Old Corellian, his voice higher pitched than normal. "Min min nyiad oblivyn."

Luke blinked at him. Although he appeared to be sound asleep, Han was actually in that hazy space between dreams and consciousness and it seemed as if he was in touch with his past life. Feeling slightly guilty, Luke decided to pry.

"Han, what's wrong? I can help you."

"Ofax ets burrin tehn. Shrike vil ut valle Nharquis." Luke had no idea what that meant. _Maybe this isn't such a good idea, _he thought.

"Go back to sleep, Han." After a pause, he added, "You're safe here."

"Valle min chumani?" Are you my friend? Luke understood that question as clearly as if Han had spoken it in Basic. He felt chilled all over. He didn't speak a word of Old Corellian and yet somehow, thanks to the Force, he just knew. He was talking to Han's inner child, the one who had been beaten, the one he'd caught a glimpse of when Han had been injured.

"Yes, Han. I'm your chumani." Luke patted his friend's shoulder. "And I'm not leaving so you'd better get used to me."

Han groaned slightly in his sleep and shifted his weight. "Lemme sleep, Luke," he mumbled in a normal, if slightly aggrieved, tone of voice. Luke watched him for a moment longer before heading out to the street to clear his head and find them some breakfast and a decent cup of caf. He pocketed the pain pills, just in case.


	4. Chapter 4

My thanks to 2Old4This2 for beta-reading and keeping me from tipping too far into a vat of angst. I also appreciate the reviews from jeanmarie3, Book girl fan, and Freshman11.

* * *

Han awoke to the uneasy feeling that something was missing. _Ofax ets burrin tehn_, he thought, wondering why the Old Corellian phrase had come to mind. Literally, it meant "The air is too heavy here," which was roughly equivalent to "I have a bad feeling about this." He rose to standing, stiff and miserable, longing for a hot shower, one with real water. He was going to have to ask the kid for his help with that, both to disentangle him from his sling and to assist him in keeping the bacta cast dry.

Sighing, he glanced over at the adjacent bed. _Where's Luke?_ The covers were thrown back, the pillow askew, and Han felt his heart clench. _Droyk_! In a flood of embarrassment, he remembered his weakness from the night before. Tearing into the covers, he confirmed that the vial of reedug was missing. _Luke must have it on him. _That thought did little to comfort the smuggler. The boy probably didn't know that it was illegal to be in possession of it outside of a medcenter.

A panicky feeling washed over him. _What if Luke left me here alone? It would serve me right. I've acted like a complete barve and treated the kid like bantha dung. _Han didn't have many regrets in life, but he had one now. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to get a grip on his emotions. It wasn't like Han to feel this way, uneasy and helpless. _I haven't been this weak since I was a kid working for Shrike_.

That memory brought a flare of pain to his wrist and a flurry of ancient swear words to mind. _So that's it_, Han realized. _This break reminds m__e of getting beaten by Shrike. _But knowing why he was flooded with feelings from his past did little to calm them.

Han walked into the small refresher and stared at his reflection. He could almost see the timid, frightened child within. His hair was a tangled mess, his clothes askew, his right arm - his blaster arm - useless.

_Useless!_ _Weak crinking piece of flarg! _he thought angrily._ Frinking guerfel ke'dem! _Damned crazy fool.

His left fist hit the mirror at the same time Luke returned with two steaming cups of caf and a large bag of breakfast biscuits. The impact shattered the surface into a thousand tiny shards. Blood dripped from Han's knuckles into the sink below.

* * *

Luke nearly dropped the caf. "Han! What are you doing?"

He ran to the table, set aside the breakfast, and cautiously approached his friend. Han appeared stunned. He met Luke's eyes and the younger man saw real fear there.

"I don't know, Luke."

This was not the confident Han Solo that Luke knew. This had to be Han reliving the past. Luke spoke with authority, hoping his friend would respond to someone else taking charge. "Han, you need to get cleaned up. Step away from the mess and into the shower, okay?"

Han did as instructed, leaving behind a small trail of blood. Luke put a hand to his face and found a tear there. _Gods help me, Obi-Wan_, he implored._ He's my best friend and he's an absolute mess. I'm in way over my head here. Tell me what to do!_

A shower seemed like the obvious first step, so Luke helped Han out of his tunic and sling and ran the water. He made sure there was no razor, or anything else dangerous, within reach before leaving Han alone so he could clean up the broken mirror.

After Han had finished his shower and Luke had helped him to dress, the younger man wrapped his knuckles in bacta tape, retied his sling, and led him to the table. He handed his friend a cup of caf, which Han drank rather awkwardly.

Luke sat beside him without saying a word.

After a protracted silence that had Luke biting his tongue, Han spoke, his voice raw. "I was nine when Shrike broke my arm. He nearly beat me unconscious."

The blond nodded and tried to lean into the Force. _Just listen_, he heard.

The silence between the men stretched uncomfortably long again until finally, Han resumed speaking. "I ... I couldn't defend myself or my friends. I watched him ... what he did to them ... what he did to me ..." Han's eyes were wet with unshed tears. "I promised myself. I promised myself on that day that I would never put myself or my friends in that position again." His troubled hazel eyes met Luke's. "I'm supposed to be able to defend you. I've let you down."

Luke reached across the table to pat Han's wrist, but, finding both hands injured, he settled for gently squeezing his left arm. "No, you haven't, Han." He swallowed and took a deep breath, searching for the right words. "But I need you to stop trying to hurt yourself, okay? You don't have to prove to me that you're sorry for what happened. I know you are, even though you have nothing to be sorry for. Shrike was an evil being, consumed by the Dark Side, and you were just a child."

Han nodded. "Thanks, Luke," he whispered.

Acting with the Force, Luke walked over to Han and put his arms around the smuggler. "It's okay, Han," he said.

And Han, whom he fully expected to lash out or resist, tolerated the brief hug, leaving Luke's eyes swimming in tears.


	5. Chapter 5

My thanks to 2Old4This2 for her keen eye. Any remaining mistakes are mine. I also appreciate the reviews from Book girl fan, StatsGrandma57, and Freshman11.

* * *

Luke lay back on his bed and contemplated the ceiling of the hotel room. Without consciously realizing it, he had been counting the breaths of the smuggler sleeping in the bed beside him. He relaxed his posture fractionally. Han was finally asleep, sound asleep, and Luke could let his mind wander.

_We need to fix the ship_, he thought. _That'll involve another fight with Han_, he realized, but he also knew that the Corellian would see the light if it meant that they could get off this rock sooner. _I'll just explain to him that he can either teach me to __make the repairs or we can hire someone else to do it. That'll shut him up._

The harshness of Luke's thoughts made him feel guilty, and he raised up on one elbow to study his friend and mentally ask for his forgiveness. Even in the dim light, Luke could see how uncomfortable Han was, his body posture awkward, moodiness radiating from him in waves. Luke took a deep breath and tried to project the peace of the Force back at his friend. It was hard to tell if it was helping. Not for the first time, Luke wished he had someone to teach him how to use this mysterious new ability. Talking to a dead man could only get you so far!

Luke rolled over on his back and sighed. _Some vacation!_ he thought. _Han's never gonna want to visit Wukkar again! _His thoughts drifted over the events of the day. After Han's brief but emotional disclosure that morning, Luke had suggested they go out for lunch.

* * *

Halfway through the Nyork chowder, Han froze.

Luke spoke around a mouthful of muja muffin. "What's wrong?"

But Han's face had already shifted into guarded neutral. Luke felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as someone approached their table from behind.

Han's eyes tracked the progress of the newcomer. "Hello, Celab," he said, in a voice that was neither warm nor welcoming. A hand clamped on Luke's shoulder and Han stiffened.

"Good day, Captain Solo." The man laughed, a cold, cruel sound. "And friend." Luke looked up to find that the owner of the hand was a coarse-looking spacer with hard eyes and a mean smile. The spacer threw a dismissive shoulder in Han's direction. "You still owe me after that last sabacc tournament." Luke felt the pressure of the man's hand increase on his shoulder, saw the uneasy flick of Han's gaze, and mentally thought through their defenses. It was a short list. Luke was carrying his lightsaber; Han had his gun rig and gods knew what else hidden on him, but his dominant hand was immobile and he could only hold large objects - like muja muffins - in the other. Luke studied Han's face. _How much danger are we in? _he wondered.

"I won that hand fair," Han replied, his voice belying none of the panic that Luke suspected he felt.

"Life has a way of dealing with cheaters, Solo." The man left Luke's side - he could breathe freely again - and stood next to Han. "What have we here?" the man taunted. "A broken bone or two?" The laugh grew cold. "Let's add to that." The man cold-cocked Han and was walking toward the door before Luke even had a chance to draw his lightsaber. The force of the blow tipped Han's chair over, tossing him to the floor. Landing hard on his knees and both injured wrists, Han's scream was audible. "Nice seeing ya, Solo." The man sauntered out to the street as Luke helped Han to his feet.

Han spit blood. "Nice seeing you too, Celab, you kriffing Black Sun wanna-be."

Luke signaled the serving droid. "Can we get this to go?"

* * *

Back on the street, Han lit into Luke. "A little back-up woulda been nice back there, junior."

Luke shrugged. "Sorry, Han."

The older man frowned. "You need a blaster."

"I have a blaster. I just don't carry it. A lightsaber is better."

Han scoffed. "Ain't nothing better than a blaster, kid." His eyes lit up. "They got blaster ranges here in Iltarr City. Let's get your blaster and I'll teach you how to shoot it."

Luke wanted to argue that he knew how to use a blaster just fine, but he was so relieved to see the fire back in Han's eyes that he agreed. The two men went back to the hotel and finished their meal. After tending to Han's new wounds - he'd reopened a cut on his left hand during the attack - Luke retrieved his blaster from a hidden compartment in his bag. Only the enthusiastic gleam in Han's eye kept him from protesting.

* * *

"Pull out your blaster!"

Luke did as instructed and Han sighed.

"Not like that, kid. Draw like you mean it. Get into a defensive posture, knees bent. Yeah, like that."

Luke felt vaguely silly pivoting on both feet in a sweep pattern in their small assigned cubicle at the blaster range. No one else was there, save the durasteel target at the far end of the room.

Han suddenly rammed Luke with his good shoulder, causing the younger man to lose his balance. "Shoot him now!"

The shot rang wild, leaving a luminous blaster ring on the ceiling. Luke glared at Han. "What was that for?" There was a slight whine in his tone. "How'em I supposed to shoot like that?"

"Exactly."

* * *

Back in the darkness of the hotel room, Luke smiled. He'd learned a few things, but mostly that his friend could be a kind and patient teacher when he wanted to be. Along with precise target shooting under less than ideal conditions, Han had shown Luke how to balance the weapon properly in his hand - "A firm grip, not too tight" - and how to feel at one with your blaster. It reminded Luke of his brief but powerful lightsaber training at the hands of Obi-Wan Kenobi. He wondered what Old Ben would think of him carrying a blaster.

Luke stifled a yawn. After five hours at the blaster range, he had begged off. He knew Han would have stayed there all night, and his friend - despite his best efforts to hide it - was visibly tired. It had occurred to Luke then with an uneasy jolt that he had to take charge for the rest of this trip, to look out for Han, to make sure that Han was safe. The man didn't know his limits right now - or maybe he did know them, but was unwilling to accept them.

The young blond got up to check on his friend. When he'd insisted that they order room service after such a busy day, Luke hadn't missed that Han had secretly appeared relieved. The smuggler had started to wince again, to flinch every time he shifted position, and Luke knew that the man needed pain medication but was probably still too spooked to get it himself. _Or maybe_, Luke had pondered at the time, _in his current state, he couldn't open the bottle_.

So, Luke had handed the man two reedug during dinner, placing the pills in the center of his heavily bandaged left hand. "Take these," he'd instructed, and Han had swallowed the medication with a sip of water. Between the heavy meal - Corellian, this time - and the painkiller, Han was out not long after dinner.

Luke pulled the blanket back over his friend and tucked a pillow under his right arm before crawling back into bed. Despite feeling tired, he couldn't sleep. He studied his friend in the darkness. He'd never known anyone quite like Han. Luke was used to placing people into two well-defined categories - good and bad, light versus dark. It seemed like Han had used some pretty bad behavior - smuggling spice, random violence, narcissistic and selfish actions - to protect a deep core of good.

_How do you categorize that?_ Luke wondered. At the heart of it, Han was loyal and caring. But he was not an easy man to get to know. _You take two steps forward with him, and there's always a step or two back. The dance of intimacy,_ Luke thought, remembering a phrase that Aunt Beru had taught him. But there was no sexual attraction between himself and the spacer. It was emotional intimacy, Luke realized, that Han both craved and feared.


	6. Chapter 6

My thanks to 2Old4This2 for her helpful advice. Any remaining errors are mine.

I also appreciate the reviews &amp; comments from StatsGrandma57, Jedi1952, and Freshman11. Thanks for reading!

* * *

"Not too tight, junior," growled the spacer.

"I know how to use a hydrospanner, Han." With effort, Luke kept the irritation out of his voice. Once he had completed the task, the young blond crawled out of the cramped space in the _Falcon's_ underbelly, wiped his hands on a rag, and stretched. "There, that's the last one." He flicked a glance at the chrono. "And just in time, too. Your appointment's when?"

"Eleven standard time. We'll test the entire heating and cooling system when we get back." Han's voice matched his tense and guarded posture.

Luke barely managed not to roll his eyes. He was so sick of working on the _Falcon_. He remembered his first reaction to the ship - "_What a piece of junk!" - a_nd thought that his previous assessment hadn't been far off the mark.

In unspoken agreement, both men reached for their outer garments. The weather had suddenly turned unseasonably cold on Wukkar, adding another unpleasant layer to an already unpleasant trip. Luke temporarily wore Han's nerf skin jacket; Han had borrowed Luke's drab cloak since he couldn't fit his jacket over his cast and sling.

"Can't wait to get this thing off," Han muttered as they left the Falcon, exited the spaceport, and walked toward the clinic near the exercise complex. "The sooner we haul jets off this kriffing planet, the better."

Luke silently agreed. He thought over their so-called vacation. Arrival, disastrous wallball match, Han's meltdown, meeting up with Celab the wanna-be gangster, the trip to the blaster range, and three days of repairs on the Falcon. _Repairs that should've taken an afternoon,_ Luke groused internally, _if Han hadn't made me re-do half the wiring. _He wondered briefly how Chewie put up with the smuggler; Han was beyond controlling where his ship was concerned. Luke's hope that Han might accept and appreciate his repair efforts had been doused that first day when Han had insisted that Luke rewire the newly repaired couplings to meet his bizarrely specific requirements. His snippy, continual barrage of criticism had eaten at Luke's calm sense of equilibrium for three days, and now he was as edgy as Han.

_Great way to end a vacation_, Luke thought in frustration. _I'm tenser than when I arrived!_

Their hotel room felt like a prison; both men were thoroughly sick of each other. Han had contacted the medcenter that morning and insisted on an inspection of his wrist today - he simply could not wait a full week to remove the sling, he told the receptionist on duty. After a barrage of ever-increasing shouts into his communicator, Han had his appointment.

Luke had a bad feeling about this. He knew Han's injury was more serious than the man wanted to believe, and that this was likely due to his previous broken wrist, an injury that had triggered volcanic bouts of deep despair and self-loathing in his friend. Luke could understand Han's desire to return to his previous state of fiercely guarded independence. But he also felt that by rushing his recovery, Han was missing an opportunity to learn something about patience, self-acceptance, and relying on help from others. The Force was trying to teach Han, Luke was sure of it, but Han would have none of it. It was like the man was actively pushing against the Force with his bare hands - one hand with newly healed cuts, the other ... Luke wasn't sure, but he had the distinct feeling that you couldn't rush a broken bone. It either healed or it didn't.

Soon after they entered the medcenter, a Two-Onebee called Han's name. The robot unwrapped his sling and placed the injured appendage on the scanner. After a few minutes, the med droid dismissed them to the waiting room. "The doctor will be with you shortly."

Luke sat in the nearest chair, mentally exhausted. Han's emotions were like a violent swirl around him, and Luke had no idea how to avoid getting caught up in the storm. The older man paced the small waiting area. Luke wondered if Han realized that he was wincing at regular intervals now that his injured arm wasn't tethered to his side. _That can't be good_, he thought.

A receptionist called them back and led them to a small, non-descript cubicle. "The doctor will see you shortly."

A thin, gangly young Twi'lek walked in next. "Han Solo?"

Han, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, grunted his assent.

"Your scans look good. I don't think you'll need surgery."

Han's smile was instantaneous and palpable relief swept across his face. "Great! When can I get this thing off?"

She smiled back at him. "I'll call the Two-Onebee in here shortly to cut that bacta cast off," she said. "And then, one of the med tech's will wrap you in a smaller cast. You'll need to wear that one for about a week, maybe a few days longer." At the look on his face, her smile faded and she quickly added, "But you won't need the sling." Han swore, a potent mix of Corellian and Basic, and the doctor excused herself from the room. "I'll get that droid now," she said.

"I am -not- staying here another week!" Han bellowed.

Luke shrugged, trying to stay out of the emotional fray. "I don't see why you'd have to, Han. It doesn't sound like you're gonna need reconstructive surgery or anything complicated that needs a real medcenter. You can have the cast removed at the base. Flying one-handed shouldn't be a problem for you, now that you can move your arm." Luke grinned at Han.

The spacer returned a look that said Luke had grown three heads, and Luke knew it wasn't because he'd suggested that Han fly the ship one-handed. Han frequently bragged that he could fly the Falcon one-handed with his eyes closed, or with other similarly serious impairments.

"What?" Luke stared at Han and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Are you embarrassed that I broke your arm? Afraid people are going to start asking questions about how it happened?"

When his friend's cheeks turned an intense shade of pink, Luke realized that this was exactly what Han Solo feared. But before he could ask Han about it, the Two-Onebee had returned and set about sawing off Han's bacta cast using one of its many attachments.

Luke spoke over the whine of the drill. "Han, don't be ridiculous. Everyone gets hurt sometimes." As Han gave him a dubious look, Luke added, "So, we make something up. Maybe you saved my life?"

Something dark and angry flashed in Han's eyes at those words -_ Does he think I'm making fun of him_? Luke wondered - but the smuggler quickly recovered his composure and turned an impassive face toward his friend. "Ain't gonna do your reputation no good either, junior, you being a galactic war hero and all." As the Two-Onebee rolled out of the room, its work complete, a human med tech entered with a roll of light blue bacta tape and began to rewrap Han's injured arm. Luke couldn't help but notice how Han flinched and hissed as the new cast molded onto his wrist. When Han noticed Luke watching him, he poked the young man - hard - with his uninjured hand. "War heroes ain't supposed to cause people pain, you know."

Luke swallowed uneasily, the dark words hitting their mark, and he leaned against the nearest wall for support. How many days after the celebration on Yavin 4 had someone casually tossed out the comment that Luke Skywalker had killed thousands of Imperials when he blew up the Death Star? Thousands of beings, not all of them bad. The thought that he had killed even one being worthy of redemption made Luke's heart constrict painfully.

_Some war hero I am. _Luke closed his eyes, overcome with emotion at the memory of firing upon the Death Star. _So many lives I've destroyed ..._

He was unclear how much time had passed when he opened his eyes to find Han standing beside him looking worried. The older man grasped Luke's arm. "Hey, kid, I didn't mean nothin' by that."

Luke's shoulders slumped as they made their way back to the lobby so Han could settle his bill for medical treatment. "I know, Han." He gave the older man a wan smile.

Han frowned back at him as he tossed a credit chit on the desk and moved toward the door. Once they were back outside, he steered Luke toward a nearby cantina. "C'mon, kid. We both need a drink."


End file.
